


Tinvaak los Grah

by MrMundy



Series: Metanoia [7]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gen, M/M, ariquar talks to his dad ( finally )
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:22:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24005815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrMundy/pseuds/MrMundy
Summary: A battle between dragons is a verbal debate.Does that count if it's the dragonborn with his father?
Relationships: Male Altmer Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Teldryn Sero
Series: Metanoia [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686898
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	Tinvaak los Grah

**Author's Note:**

> sidenote: there's one small mention of a deadname, but it's solely because ariquar was never told his sister is trans at this point. he corrects himself immediately!

He arrives in Solitude not knowing what to expect. A summons from his father probably spells bad news, but he can't exactly ignore it. It's a relatively slow day, just past evening as the sun begins to set and cast a warm glow over everything. Ariquar walks with Teldryn at his side all the way up to some fancy tavern in the Blue Palace district; Teldryn waits outside and Ariquar assures him that he'll let him know if there's trouble. 

Inside, the tavern is well-lit, quiet, with a bard strumming her lute in one corner. Magelights float from the ceiling, the bartender ( a slender Breton man ) keeping watch on them while he wipes out a wine glass to sparkling perfection. 

There, at one of the tables near the far wall sits his father: regal, dressed in his long feathered cape with his medallions and gold jewelry on display as though thieves weren't rampant in every place in the world, his long white hair pushed back. Ariquar feels underdressed in the establishment in the underclothes of his armor, thick black padding on his chest made to dull blows against the metal cuirass he usually wears. 

It's, perhaps, better than what he'd wear at home. His father would be utterly disappointed that his son has become nothing more than a farmer as he’s settled down.

He clears his throat and takes his seat across from Vaelcelmo, who makes eye contact with him, his face nearly expressionless. Slowly, his father pours a glass of red wine and passes it his way, and Ariquar takes it without a word. He returns the gesture, watching for any sign of emotion across his father's face. There is none.

Finally, after his father stares down at the glass for several long, torturous moments, the silence is broken.

"I have heard much of what you've gotten up to here in Skyrim, son." Vaelcelmo says, his voice even. 

"And I expect that you are disappointed in all of it." Ariquar replies, resisting the urge to explain himself outright. 

"Disappointed, frustrated, infuriated." Vaelcelmo says. 

"At least you're discussing it civilly." Ariquar says, lifting his glass to take a drink. Definitely something from Alinor, perhaps even Shimmerene, something very old. Expensive. As he should have expected.

"You think I'd hunt down my own son for abandoning his duties?" Vaelcelmo asks, fingers touching the stem of his own wine glass. “Have some faith in me, won’t you?”

Ariquar narrows his eyes. Some faith? Some faith in the father who’d driven him down a path of ill morality and needless violence against some people who just happened to be different? 

“I’m afraid I lost faith in you when I left the Dominion.” Ariquar says, and somehow the regret in his father’s eyes hurts more than he thought it would. 

“What exactly, might I ask, made you leave? I thought you wanted to be like me.” Vaelcelmo says. It’s true — at one point in his life, Ariquar wanted nothing more than to be just like his father: a high-ranking Thalmor official with his name known in every city in Alinor. 

“I saw more than our little bit of the world,” Ariquar explains, looking again at his wine glass. Better than his father’s face. “I saw that beyond our meaningless struggles for power, there are people who need real, actual help. Have you heard of what it’s like on the island of Solstheim?” 

Vaelcelmo raises a brow and shakes his head.

“The people there — they’re dedicated to maintaining their culture. Even despite the fact that the island is nearly completely covered in ash from the Red Mountain, they insist on maintaining something there. And the Skaal people, father, threatened by a Daedric Prince and still they put their faith in me.” 

“What does this—” Vaelcelmo starts, but Ariquar doesn’t let him finish.

“And the people of Skyrim!” He says, getting perhaps just a bit too loud, “They thought their days were numbered, and then they saw that I could kill these dragons, and — it was hard, at first, they didn’t want to trust me, and I don’t blame them, but — I saw the hope they had once they realised that their Dragonborn of legend really existed, and I couldn’t just keep going on with what the Dominion wanted me to do. I couldn’t — make these people suffer more.”

“What does their suffering matter,” Vaelcelmo says, and Ariquar feels a twinge of hurt inside him.

“Their suffering matters because they’re people,” He says — nearly spits his words, actually — and stares across the little tavern table at him. Vaelcelmo doesn’t look impressed, or moved, or anything other than his usual look of general disdain and arrogance.

“People who have miniscule lifespans and whose culture is hitting things and screaming. Ariquar, you’re better than this.”

“Father, I hope you realise I killed the World-Eater himself by hitting him with things and screaming.”

His father doesn't seem to have a reply to that. So instead he lifts his glass to his lips and drinks, and Ariquar leans back in his seat and crosses his arms. When his father speaks again, it's a change in topic that gets a rolling of Ariquar's eyes in return. 

"Since you are so happy here, I'm afraid I'm going to have to strip you of your titles. Your nobility, the family treasury, your connections within Alinor… Your name will be erased from our books, from our… family.."

"To be completely blunt, father, I couldn't care less. Because it's obvious you care more about appearances and status than — I don't know — your son's happiness, or the fact that he has the soul of a  _ dragon _ and was prophesied to save a whole foreign people? Couldn't find a way to put that in the books in a way that it would impress the royal family, hm?"

"You think me so cruel that I would use your inherent talents to get closer to the nobility?" Vaelcelmo says, and regrets it with the way Ariquar glares at him.

"Yes, I do — because when did you ever bother to let me think for myself? To let me do what I wanted rather than what you wanted me to accomplish so our family would look good?" Ariquar says, and he knows his voice is getting a little too loud, but he can’t bring himself to care that much, not with the way his father is looking at him. Shocked, perhaps slightly intimidated by his son’s new behavior.

“Ariquar,” he starts, and realises quickly that his son is having none of it. So he quiets, letting him speak.

“You just wanted me to follow you, and I think I genuinely wanted to when I was a child. But now — now I know what I really want in life, and if you don’t like it, father, then do it. Cut me off, erase my name. I’ll just gladly take my husband’s name instead.” 

“Husband?” Vaelcelmo asks, and spares a panicked glance at Ariquar’s hand. Sure enough, a plain gold band sits on his finger, and he wonders why he hadn’t realised that before.

“Yes. It’s been some time since you’ve checked up on me — I got married. Small affair, didn’t want to cause much of a fuss, but I’m happy.” Ariquar says, quieter now. “He’s been with me through all of this.”

“Who —” Vaelcelmo begins, blinking. “It’s not Taelinwrie, is it?” 

“Taelinwrie?” Ariquar asks, laughing, “Why would it be  _ him _ ?”

“You don’t know,” his father says, “You — he was exiled. Just after he sent his report about you.”

Ariquar feels himself pale. He hadn’t liked Taelinwrie, not that much — he was simply his mentor. But the way Vaelcelmo says it makes him think it’s his fault. So, hesitantly, he asks,

“Why?”

“After you ran off, they deemed him unsuitable for his rank. Some other things came forward about him, as well — his status as a  _ hulkynd _ , his disabilities…” 

“He was  _ hulkynd _ ?” Ariquar asks, stunned, and then, “And —  _ what _ else?” 

“He was hiding some unfortunate things from us. Not quite the perfect agent you might have thought he was.” Vaelcelmo says. Ariquar wants him to elaborate, but knows that he most likely won’t. So he doesn’t push it, sitting back as he takes in the new information.

“Where was he exiled to?” He finally asks, after a long minute of quiet.

“Anywhere, as long as it’s not the Isles. I would assume he’s hiding out here in Skyrim.” 

Ariquar makes a note in his mind to look for him, later — it can’t be that difficult to find a unique-looking elf like Taelinwrie. The tavern goes quiet between them once more, the only sounds beside them the low talking of other patrons across the building and the gentle plucking of a lute. Ariquar lets the moment pass, taking a long drink as he thinks everything through.

“...I’m only going to offer once,” he says, looking away as his father looks upward from his glass. “But my husband did accompany me to the city. You can meet him if you’d like.”

“Perhaps.” Vaelcelmo says, reaching for the bottle to refill his son’s glass. Ariquar returns the gesture, just as he did earlier, finally making eye contact with his father once more when he speaks further. “You will have one last chance to see Alinor again. To face trial before you're stripped of your name. Your mother would appreciate you visiting."

"I … don’t think that would be a good idea. I wouldn't want to leave here, not when I’m needed… And besides, it would just be another chance for Failan—"

" _ Faewen _ ." The tone of his father’s voice is just as it was when he was a child being corrected on his pronunciation. 

"Ex — Excuse me?" Ariquar blinks.

"Faewen. Your  _ sister _ . She chose that for herself."

"She—? What happened to —" Slowly, it clicks. Or, at least, he assumes he knows what’s happened. Ariquar leans back, brows furrowed. "Oh.  _ Shit _ . Sorry. I..."

"You weren't informed. But she's happy as she is now." Vaelcelmo says. 

He almost wants to bite back that he's happy, too, can't he respect that? But he knows it's an entirely different barrel of fish, and perhaps making amends with his sister — well, respecting her, at least — might make things easier with his father. 

“That’s good,” he says instead, and his father shows a trace of a smile. “I’m happy for her.”

The lull in conversation afterward feels a little more comfortable; with some things aired out into the open, with Ariquar's anger earlier dissipated, it doesn't feel as though an argument could erupt from a single word. It's better, Ariquar thinks. It's a bit better.

"I am … Curious," his father admits, lifting his glass to watch the way the wine moves, "Just what this entire dragon situation has to do with your newfound power."

Ariquar thinks a moment, considers that his father might actually be curious or concerned and not just looking for information to feed to the Thalmor back home. So he settles back and begins to explain his Voice, which then turns into the story of Miraak and how he'd met Teldryn, where he carefully treads around the topic of Hermaeus Mora to avoid any other strange looks. 

His father sits and listens, taking in his story with careful consideration, speaking up only when he needs clarification on something — a term Ariquar uses, or something of that nature. There's not much Ariquar hides aside from Mora; he mentions even the Blades, just to gauge his father's reaction to his son taking over the very faction he'd previously been hunting.

All in all, Vaelcelmo listens. He doesn't seem to be changing his viewpoint on much, doesn't seem to  _ want _ to change; but listening is all Ariquar thinks he needs at the moment.

"So this World-Eater, you slew him in the Nordic afterlife?" Vaelcelmo asks, just near the end of the story. Ariquar nods.

"I was the only one who could." Ariquar says. 

"But you went to their afterlife?" Vaelcelmo asks, pressing further. "Physically? And came back?"

To be fair, Ariquar hadn't put much thought into what he'd done. He knows, of course, that it is an unbelievable and strange accomplishment - but it was just part of what he had to do, and definitely not the strangest thing. 

"I did. And it was…" He pauses, breathes slowly. "Absolutely beautiful. After Alduin was slain."

His father sits back, looking as though he was contemplating the very thought of something of a human belief being anything other than dirty and unsophisticated. They sit in silence, taking a drink of their wine every so often, taking in the strange half-tense air.

"Let's… meet that husband of yours, hm?" Vaelcelmo says, pulling his coinpurse from his belt to lay far more than needed across the table. Ariquar knows it's a show of what he's missing out on, being banned from the family treasury. But he ignores the gesture and stands as well, knowing the bartender will be more than happy about the extra payment. 

They leave, and it's far later than Ariquar expects. The moons hover overhead, stars blinking at them. He leads his father down toward the lower part of town, toward the Winking Skeever, where he knows Teldryn will be. He always enjoys spending time in taverns while Ariquar took care of business. The door opens with a low creak, and he's greeted with a sight he's seen many times before:

Teldryn sits atop one of the tables, his foot resting on one of the chairs as he strums a lute and sings in a surprisingly well-trained voice that matches the crackling of the fireplace nearby. His foot taps as he plays, and he has an audience of those at the tables around him, chairs turned or pulled slightly closer to hear him better. He looks up as he hears the door, a smile creeping across his face as he stumbles over a couple of the words he knows forward and backward. 

As Ariquar approaches him and leans down to whisper to him that his father wants to meet him, he doesn't feel abandoned or disowned. He feels fine — because Teldryn is his family, now. 

( Perhaps, in a broader sense, the people of Skyrim are his family now, as well — but he doesn't want to get into metaphoricals. )

His father can boast about all the things he'd be missing out on, can tell him stories of the great things happening in Alinor, but it doesn't matter.

Teldryn settles his lute onto his lap and leans up, kissing him for just a second. Maybe just to spite Vaelcelmo, maybe simply because he felt like it. Either way, Ariquar smiles into it.

"So, want me to put on an angry face for him?" Teldryn asks, voice just at a whisper. Ariquar shakes his head.

"No, just — be you. He'll react the same either way."

Vaelcelmo wanders closer, but hangs back until Ariquar waves him over. Teldryn offers his hand to shake, and there’s a moment of tense hesitation until Vaelcelmo willingly takes it. Things aren’t quite as bad as Ariquar expects — his father is still, as he thought, unimpressed with Teldryn, but he doesn’t make a scene about it. 

By midnight, he’s gotten exactly one smile from his father, which he counts as a win. He voices as such to Teldryn, who laughs as they settle into a cozy little room in the Winking Skeever. Tomorrow, they’ll go back home, back to Riverwood, and wait for some courier to come running with a bounty on another dragon. 

  
  


Vaelcelmo heads back to the embassy, and then back to Summerset. He knows he has to erase his son’s name from the treasury, from the books, but there’s hesitation before he does so. 

If he leaves a few notes of his eldest son somewhere in one of their genealogy records, nobody bothers him about it.

  
  
  



End file.
